Mike Sajovie, Writer

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Rust Belt Invitational

One more time across every bridge in Cleveland
circle the flats
cross the river
smooth, rhythmic strides to Whiskey Island
touch the abandoned lighthouse and hightail it to Edgewater
knees up, on toes along the sandy beach
waves crash against our calves
a sandstorm brews like the dust bowl behind us
grains inside our socks the size of pennies
tackle the mammoth hill
race like children chasing fireflies on warm summer nights
a thousand seagulls lift off the grassy runway bantering like seagulls do
we are gasping, gasping to feel again like twenty-two.